


Like We're Running Out

by victoriousscarf



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is anything if not professional. That doesn't mean he doesn't feel or doesn't worry.</p><p>And while Natasha may not cry for regimes, she mourns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like We're Running Out

Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, was known for taking dangerous missions. Whether she just ended up assigned to them, or whether she volunteered for them wasn’t actually what mattered—what mattered was that she went on them.

And baring a couple occasions, came back from those missions more intact then Agent Clint Barton ever managed to.

Which wasn’t to say that Phil Coulson didn’t go on dangerous missions as well, but he generally speaking didn’t go out to get himself tortured for information (even if the interrogation was going the opposite of what the gang members were expecting).

Phil was utterly comfortable with sending Natasha into hot situations, sure she could handle herself. He could even sit through the debriefs afterward, notes perfectly straight in front of him, nodding to whatever she or Fury had to say.

He would remain composed just long enough for them to get behind a closed door. Then he would press Natasha against the wall or door, hands moving across her body to make sure, physically sure, that she was alright.

That would last just long enough for him to be reassured before she flipped them, pinning him against the wall in turn and licking her way into his mouth, biting at his lip and he would smile into the kiss.

When she was unclothed and his own suit was getting rumpled on the floor, he would continue checking, cataloging every inch of her skin. She would roll her eyes and pull him into another kiss.

\----

They were completely professional though. Fury probably knew, because Fury just tended to know things like that. Clint probably knew too, because he had sharp eyes and a sixth sense for secrets and relationships.

The only outward sign was when someone would mention Phil, and Natasha’s eyes would warm ever so slightly, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. There weren’t many people she would talk about like that. Even mentioning his fan boy tendencies around the fabled Captain America got that reaction, as she told Steve with almost a straight face how proud Phil was of his vintage cards.

Not that Banner or Rodgers understood at all.

\----

Natasha had been utterly honestly when she said she didn’t cry over regimes. It hardly mattered to her whether Fury was on top of the pile, whether Stark was, or any number of other people. She’d do her duty, fight the good fight, and she hoped the right people turned up on top.

But if they didn’t, she’d just wait for the bad guys to topple and the other side to win out.

What mattered to her were the individuals.

The people she knew, the people she saw day to day and cared about. There weren’t many she cared about, but once they slithered past her defenses, they were there.

She wouldn’t cry to see the world burn.

She wouldn’t cry over Phil Coulson until the mission was done.

But when it was over she cried for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I used to write a lot of introspective, fit-the-relationship-into-cannon pieces, but it's been a long time. I actually rather missed doing them. 
> 
> Assume all of Poets of the Fall's newest album "Temple of Thought" is the soundtrack for anything I've written recently.


End file.
